A LIFE IN THE BALANCE
I suppose it is absurd to talk about presentiments, and yet I knew what
was in that letter. As plainly as though I saw it written up in
characters of fire, I knew its contents and my doom. The climax of all
things was at hand. The time was approaching when I must keep my vow, or
confess myself foresworn--an unworthy daughter of the Marionis. It was a
bitter choice, for there was a life in either balance; the life of this
traitress of five-and-twenty years ago, or of an old man sick to the
heart with disappointment; deceived by a woman in his youth, and a woman
again in his old age.
I bathed my eyes and face, and, throwing off my wet things, wrapped
myself in a dressing robe. Then I poured out a cup of tea and drank it
over the fire. All the while that letter lay before me on the tray, face
upward, and my eyes kept straying unwillingly toward it. It had a sort
of fascination for me, and in the end it conquered. I had meant to give
myself a few hours' more freedom--to have put it away until bedtime, but
a sudden impulse came to me, and I yielded. I caught it up with firm
fingers and tore it open.
* * * * *
"PALEZZO CARLOTTI, ROME.
"MARGHARITA,--Beloved. Success! success! My search is over, my purpose
is accomplished. I have found Paschuli. Enclosed in this letter you will
find a smaller envelope. It contains the powder.
"Can you wonder that my hand is shaking, and that there is a mist before
my eyes! I am an old man, and great joy is hard to bear; harder still
after a weary, wretched life such as mine. You will understand,
though--you will be able to decipher this faint, uncertain handwriting,
and you will forgive me if it tires you. Ay, you will do that,
Margharita, I know!
"Let me tell you how I found him. It was by the purest accident. I
turned aside into an old curio shop to buy some trifle for you which
took my fancy, and it was Paschuli himself who served me. Thus you see
how indirectly even your star always shines over mine and leads me
aright. If it had not been for you I should never have dreamed of
entering the place, but I thought of you and your taste for Roman
jewelry, and behold, I found myself in the presence of the man for whom
I was making vain search. My Margharita! my good angel! I have you to
thank even for the successful accomplishment of my part in that edict of
our Order which you and I are banded together to carry out.
"At first, Paschuli did not recognize me, and it was long before I could
make him believe that I was indeed that most unfortunate of men,
Leonardo di Marioni. But when he was convinced, he promised me what I
sought. That same evening he gave it to me.
"Margharita, there is no poison in the world like that which I send you
in this letter. The merest grain of it is sufficient, in wine or water,
or food of any sort. There is no art of medicine which could detect
it--no means by which the death, which will surely follow, can be
averted; so you run no risk, my child! Bide your time, and then--then!
"Margharita, I am coming to you. Nay, do not be alarmed, I run no risk.
I shall come disguised, and no one will know me, but I must see
something of the end with my own eyes, or half its sweetness would be
untasted. I would see her face and die! I would trace, day by day, the
workings of the poison; and in the last moments of her agony I would
reveal myself, and would point to my withered frame and the hand of
death upon my forehead, and cry out to her that the Order of the White
Hyacinth had kept its vow. I would have her eyes meet mine as the mists
of death closed in upon her. I would have her know that the oath of a
Marioni, in friendship or in hate, in protection or in vengeance, is one
with his honor. This may not be, Margharita! I cannot see all this! I
cannot even stand by her bedside for a moment and show her my face, that
she might know whose hand it is which has stricken her down. Yet, I must
be near! Fear not but that I shall manage it safely! I would not bring
danger or the shadow of danger upon you, my beloved.
"I leave Rome to-night, and I leave it with joy. You cannot imagine how
inexpressibly sad it has been for me to find myself in the place where
the greater part of my youth--my too ambitious youth was spent. All is
changed and strange to me. There are new streets and many innovations
which puzzle me; and although my friends are kind, twenty-five years
have crushed our sympathies. To them I am like a sad figure from a
bygone world, a Banquo at the feast, something to pity a little--no
more. I am nothing to anybody beyond that. I am a wearisome old man,
whose mind is a blank, and who only cumbers the way. Ah, well, it is not
for long. The day of my desire is at hand, and God has given me you,
Margharita, to accomplish it, and to close my eyes in peace. Bless you,
my dear, dear child! You have sweetened the end of a marred and wretched
life! Yours has been an angel's task, and you will have an angel's
reward."
"We shall meet before long, but of the manner of our meeting I cannot
tell you yet. Till then adieu!--Yours in hope,
"LEONARDO DI MARIONI.
"P. S.--I forgot to say that the whole of the poison, or even half a
teaspoonful, would produce sudden and abrupt death. Just a pinch,
administered twice, perhaps, in order to be quite secure, would be
sufficient."
* * * * *
Enclosed in the letter was the oblong envelope he spoke of, which I
carefully opened. It contained only a small quantity of pale pink
powder, which emitted a faint pungent odor. I locked it up in my desk,
and destroyed the letter.
All my strength had returned. I felt myself free from the madness of
this overmastering love. Another passion for the moment had taken its
place. The vision of that old man, wandering about the streets of Rome,
with a sad, weary heart and tottering limbs out of touch with the times,
a figure for a half-contemptuous pity; that is the picture which I saw
steadily before me to nerve my heart and purpose, and well it succeeded.
The second bell roused me from my thoughts. I hastily rose from my
chair, and attired myself in the plainest gown which I possessed. I
unlocked my desk, and thrust the little packet into my pocket. Then,
without jewelry or flowers, and with my hair plainly coiled upon my
head, I went downstairs.
They had commenced dinner when I arrived, and Lord Lumley glanced
reproachfully at me as I took my seat. From the sudden silence directly
I entered, I imagined they had been talking of me, and I made my excuses
with a momentary nervousness. There was something unusual in the air. It
seemed to me that Lady St. Maurice was regarding me with a new and
kindly interest. She said nothing, as I had dreaded she would, of my
long absence from the house, and Lord St. Maurice, with a courtesy
unusual even for him, rose when I entered, and motioning the butler
away, himself held my chair. What did it all mean? At another time I
might have wondered more, but just then there were other thoughts in my
mind. Should I have an opportunity to commit my crime that night? I
feared not.
I gave no one any chance for sentimental conversation during dinner
time, for I talked more than usual, and in a lighter vein. I wanted
nothing said which could bring back to my memory that wild scene on the
cliffs, or the hours of agony which I had been through. All such things
were of the past. I desired to be able to look back upon them as upon
some strange night-dream--fair enough of itself, but gone with the first
breath of morning. To my relief, the others, too, avoided the subject.
There was nothing said about Lord Lumley's escape which even bordered
upon the pathetic.
Dinner, which seemed to me to last longer than usual, came to an end at
last. I had planned to make some excuse to the Countess, and leave the
drawing-room before Lord Lumley could follow, but, as I had half
expected that he might, Lord Lumley accompanied us there without waiting
to smoke. To my surprise, Lady St. Maurice, before I could frame an
excuse to her for my own departure, left us alone. Lord Lumley held the
door open for her, and it seemed to me that a meaning glance passed
between them. It was beyond my understanding. I could only see that my
plans were frustrated, and that I must prepare for another struggle.
He shut the door carefully, and then came back and stood over me. I
looked at him calmly. How could he read the agony in my heart.
"I am waiting for my answer, Margharita!" he said simply.
"You have had the only answer which I can ever give you, Lord Lumley! I
answered--'No!'"
Then he did a thing which sounds very absurd, but which did not indeed
seem so. He sank on one knee and took possession of my hand. I was on a
low chair, and his face now was on a level with mine.
"Margharita, my love," he whispered, "'no' is an answer which I shall
never take. Yesterday I went away and left you, to-day I am wiser.
Nothing can undo those few minutes on the cliffs, dearest. You love me!
Ah! you cannot deny it! Have I not read it in your face, and in your
eyes? Take back your 'no,' Margharita. By the memory of those few
minutes, you are mine forever! You have not the power or the right to
deny yourself to me. You are mine! You belong to me!"
I shrank back. I began to be frightened at his earnestness--at the note
of triumph in his voice. How strong and masterful he was. Should I be
able to hold out against him? Only my will and the memory of a wasted
life against my heart and such pleading as this. It was a hard, unequal
battle.
"Margharita, I love you all the more that you are not lightly won!" he
continued, drawing me closer to him--almost into his arms. "Listen! I
believe that I have some idea as to the reason of your answer. You
think, perhaps, that my people might not be willing. You are proud--too
proud. Tell me, is this not so?"
"A governess is no fitting wife for you. You should choose one from
among the noble women of your country. I----"
He interrupted me. If I had not drawn back quickly he would have stopped
my lips with a kiss.
"No one in this world could be as fit as you, for it is you, and you
only, whom I love. But listen! I have spoken to my mother. I have told
her."
"You have told her what?" I cried.
"That I love you. That I have asked you to be my wife."
"What did she say?"
"What a true woman and good mother should say; that if you were indeed
my choice, then she was ready to welcome you as her daughter, and my
wife."
"You cannot mean it!" I cried. "She knows nothing of me, and I am
penniless."
"She knows that I love you, and that would be sufficient, dearest. But,
as it happens, she knew more about you than I did. From her I learned,
for the first time, that your mother came from a family which was great
and noble before ours was ever founded. She told me a sad story of your
uncle, Margharita, which you, too, doubtless know of, and she seemed
glad to think that our marriage would be, in a certain sense, an act of
poetic justice. She told me, too, Margharita, that if your uncle died
unmarried, you could, if you chose, take his name and call yourself the
Countess di Marioni. Why, sweetheart, I am not sure that I ought to
aspire to the hand of so great a lady."
"Your mother, the Countess of St. Maurice, told you all this? She
desires our marriage? She knows what you are asking me?" I repeated
breathlessly.
"Most certainly! Shall I call her? She will tell you so herself."
"Do not speak to me for a moment, please."
I was an idiot, but I could not help it. I buried my head in the sofa
cushion, and sobbed. Everything seemed fighting against me, to make my
purpose more difficult.
I think that tears have a softening effect. I had steeled my heart
against my lover, and yet he conquered. I felt his strong arms around
me, and his lips were pressed against my wet cheeks. Oh! for strength to
thrust him from me--to deny my love, but I could not.
Why should I try to recall his words? Nay! if I could, I would not set
them down here! I felt every fiber of my nature glowing with delight as
I listened; every chord seemed quivering with heart-stirring music. I
had given up all idea of resistance. A strange drowsy peace had stolen
in upon me. One of his arms was around my waist, and my hand was
imprisoned in his. So we sat, and the moments became golden.
Interruption came at last. The door opened, and Lady St. Maurice
entered. My lover rose at once, still holding my hand.
"Mother," he said, "Margharita has made me very happy. Will you speak to
her?"
She came to us, and bent over me, her face looking very soft and sweet
in the shaded light. In another moment she would have kissed me. I
sprang to my feet, pale with horror.
"No, no, it cannot be!" I cried. "I am not fit to be his wife--to be
anybody's wife! Lady St. Maurice, will you not tell him so for me? Let
me go away!"
She looked surprised at my agitation, but she little guessed its cause.
How was she to know anything of that little packet which seemed to be
burning a hole in my heart?
"No! I will not tell him that!" she said, smiling. "He loves you, and I
believe that you are worthy of his love. That is quite sufficient. I
shall be glad to have you for a daughter, Margharita."
Lord Lumley thanked her with a look, and took her hand. They stood
together on the hearthrug, and I was on the other side facing the
window. Suddenly my heart gave a great leap, and the color died out of
my face. Pressed against the dark pane I could see a pale, white face
watching us. It was the face of my uncle, Count di Marioni.
I stood swaying backward and forward for a moment, sick and dizzy with
the horror of it. My eyes grew dim, and a mist seemed to fill the room.
Then I felt myself sink back into my lover's arms, and memory became a
blank. I had fainted.